


Himuro's Five Senses

by Psuedorabbit



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: @god, Feelings, Fluff, Gay, Himuro why are you so cute, I APOLOGIZE, KnB - Freeform, Kuroko's basketball - Freeform, M/M, MY BABIES, Murasakibara Atsushi - Freeform, There's no point, a lot of fluff, clenches fist, himuro tatsuya - Freeform, kuroko no basuke - Freeform, my heart, super fucking gay, what even is this, why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psuedorabbit/pseuds/Psuedorabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Himuro Tatsuya feels a lot of things toward the center player of Yosen High, and he's aware that Atsushi Murasakibara invades his five senses daily. Of course, he isn't complaining.</p><p>This is so fluffy you might choke on it, I'm sorry in advance</p>
            </blockquote>





	Himuro's Five Senses

**Author's Note:**

> @god  
> why

Touch

Murasakibara is more delicate than Himuro ever could have imagined. When the shooting guard's fingertips dance down the side of Atsushi's neck, he feels more than his pulse. He feel his life. The beating of blue ribbons beneath pale skin that contribute to the both of them living on the same time line. Murasakibara's shoulders are symmetrical, plates of bone surrounded by tissues, nerves, muscles, flesh. 

Himuro walked two fingers solidly along the bridges of the center player's collarbones, tight-roping; do not fall. Along his stomach, Himuro feels the dip and rise of hip bones and pelvis and a finger tip runs down until fabric becomes his stopping point. The knobs of the taller's spine remind the second year of an xylophone; pastel colored underneath his porcelain skin and, he wonders if he knocked hard enough, would music play? Hair tickles the back of the giant's neck, freshly grown back after the last cut and Himuro scratched his shortened nails through the other's scalp carefully, strands and hair fibers softer than cotton running between his fingers. 

Index fingertip draws an invisible line from the center of Mura's forehead, sidetracked with fluttering eyelids and butterfly kissed lashes and down the bridge of his nose, rests on his top lip and is warmed by air exhaled from his nose. His lips are unchapped, uncracked, plush soft and pale pink. Himuro greets Atsushi's palms with his own, a 'Hello, how do you do?' ritual and their fingers mingle for a moment as if hugging. 

The tops of the giant's hands are complex, tendons and muscle strapped together, more blue ribbons strewn across, pulled tight and pulsing. Himuro touches one and presses down, wanting to feel the steamwork of his hands, the system of his body. Atsushi is complex. He is still delicate and fragile despite his height. Himuro must remember not to break him.

Taste

Atsushi tastes like cream. Almond milk and thawed strawberries. Bitter coffee and the sour juice of a perfectly wrapped lollipop. Gum with a bite similar to mid-winter air and mouth wash with the same cold sting. Water and last nights leftovers of Caesar salad. 

His skin is smooth beneath feathery kisses, and that doesn't taste like much except occasional loneliness. The dip in the taller's neck is sweet, when Himuro dipped his fingers into the bowl of honey and placed it there with no regard for consequence. He tastes like life, and death, and it was the moment the shooting guard realizes he's in love. If any of those taste like anything, he's not entirely sure. 

Atsushi tastes like home and homesickness, salty and sweet and sometimes bitter. He is the tea Himuro burns his lips on and the cinnamon sugar granules that sit on his tongue after a pretzel at a concession stand. Atsushi is dessert and breakfast and the meals in between. He is the kind of taste the smaller cannot get off of his tongue no matter how many times he brushes it raw.

Hear 

Murasakibara's laughter is the kind that will replay itself in Himuro's head at night when he tries to sleep. It sounds like something that would tickle his eardrums and make flowers want to dance with the wind. It's a soothing sound and is the quickest Pick Me Up he can find. Atsushi sounds like a lullaby when the sky has grown dark and it puts Himuro to sleep with quieted whispers that coincide with the fingertips twirling in his own hair. 

Atsushi is Himuro's favorite song to hear. Lyrics that the other could sing to repeatedly. At night, the shooting guard listens for the center's breathing, inhales and exhales and a sigh here and there. Himuro was usually floored when Atsushi played piano; stuck standing where he stood to listen intently as each key pressed was another piece adding to the harmony which normally to Atsushi, was just messing around with the keys.

Smell

Insence cones and blown out candles. Still warm clothes, fresh out of the dryer. First and foremost, home. Atsushi's scent was one that Himuro found his comfort in, it was how he escaped danger. It was one of those scents that he knew he'd never find anywhere else ever again. Himuro would find familiarities in the air, on other people, on other men but never the same as Atsushi's. And that was relieving and terrifying at the same time. Himuro slept with it in mind, with it surrounding him. When sweaters too big enveloped him, he used the smell that clung to them as security from what could harm him in the hours between two-thirty and three in the much early morning. At times when Himuro needed it the most, it tried to slip away and he found himself caccooned in Atsushi's blankets just to have it back again.

Sight 

There was always something Himuro found worth staring at. The love marks that sometimes appeared on the side of his lover's neck, and the small dark spots in the irises of his lavender eyes. Atsushi's eyes alone were something else. Himuro was constantly pulled in, constantly searching the depths of them. For what? He's unsure, but always manages to lose himself to the point of near no return until he finds his way back. Those were another world all in their own, fogged forests with masses of overhanging moss. Fungus umbrellas for the fairies that would take shelter under them. Once Himuro was freed, he always found his sight locked most intently on Atsushi's twitching pulse, the veins in his neck and his wrists.

Himuro watched the rising of his chest and the rhythmic bounces of his stomach from his lively heartbeat. It astounded Himuro for reasons unknown. The shooting guard didn't know why he was so blown away by the sight of the Giant breathing, by the fact that he was alive and was human like anybody and everybody else. Himuro guesses he didn't expect Atsushi to be like everybody else. Didn't expect him to be one hundred percent human. And the bewilderment carried on with each look the smaller made at the larger, when the evening sun had slipped citrus colored remnants of its light through the crack of a window and fell upon his face, and Himuro gazed in awe at the way his lover was lit up beautifully, wonderfully, a lovely sight to be seen.


End file.
